


Strictly business purposes

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: a/c - Freeform, crowziraphale, i can't be bothered right now, ineffable husbands, this is rubbish i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-02 07:46:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8658508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In the background Crowley and Aziraphale met on the tops of buses, and in art galleries, and at concerts, compared notes, and smiled.





	1. On the tops of buses

**Author's Note:**

> Hey people!  
> I couldn't be bothered to write something full, so I'm splitting what was intended to be one story into several chapters, because why not. I was just reading GO again, and this one particular line struck some inspiration, so here's a part of a story. The next part should be uploaded over the next few days. Sorry this is so short, right now I'm working on my stuff for the GO exchange ^_^

_In the background Crowley and Aziraphale met on the tops of buses, and in art galleries, and at concerts, compared notes, and smiled._

 

The bus was a vivid, bright red, covered in city smog and scattered stains. It wasn’t blood red, instead, a garish shade that hurt Crowley’s eyes and whispered in his ear of London.

The smell of pollution and people and _city_ wafted drunkenly through the air, circling around and occasionally drifted past the lone figure atop a bus.

Crowley muttered irritably at the phantom wind that fluttered through his hair, running a hand through the dark strands, attempting to fix it. After a few attempts, he resigned to having messy hair, and checked his watch.

Aziraphale was late. He always was. Virtue was ever vigilant, but this specific part of it wasn’t particularly punctual.

Since the Antichrist had been born, the rules of the Arrangement had been a little skewed. It had once been merely a business event, an organisation of convenience, but now, it was...different, perhaps.

But then again, it could have just been Crowley. Aziraphale was an angel, after all, and Heaven was harsher on rules then it let on.

Crowley checked his watch again, sighing. The bus was about to leave, and even though they weren’t going anywhere, it took quite a lot of effort to stop it from leaving.

Just as he was about to bless Aziraphale and mutter for him to hurry up, there was a sudden breath of air next to him, and inexplicably, the angel was beside him.

“Are you supposed to do that?” Crowley asked amusedly. The angel looked slightly guilty.

“I have permission, from...” he started to attempt, before shaking his head. Crowley smirked.

“No,” Aziraphale admitted. The bus started to move, the sound of the engine growing louder in their ears. He pulled out a little notepad, and opened it to a page full of neat writing.

“Let’s start,” he said. Crowley blinked distractedly.

“Uh, notes, yeah,” he muttered. He didn’t have a notebook, and didn’t need one. Because, really, he wasn’t there for the notes.

“Well, he seems to be a normal child, so far,” Aziraphale observed. “I’ve been trying to tell him some stories from the Bible.”

Crowley winced. “Don’t you think he should have done something a little more, by now? He just kind of...sits there.”

Aziraphale looked affronted. “Of course not! He’s just a little child, dear. Give him a few more years.”

The demon looked bored. “ _Years?_ Is this what parenthood is like?”

“I’d expect so, yes.” After a second of silence, he added,“We’re not his parents, though.”

Crowley blushed. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean...”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley fell silent. The sound of the bus filled the silence, with its long droning.

“Do you have any observations?” the angel enquired. Crowley shook his head.

“Notes are rather boring, I admit,” said Aziraphale. “The child won’t be doing anything interesting for a while yet. ”

“Let’s do something different,” Crowley tempted, eyes starting to glitter from behind his sunglasses. _This_ was more like it.

“Like what?” the angel asked hesitantly, cautiously. Crowley shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

“Whatever you want,” he said, and Aziraphale decided that perhaps, that would be okay, just this once.

 

 

 


	2. Art gallery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, so much for 'the next part will be uploaded over the next few days'. Why am I like this, ugh. I need to stop procrastinating.  
> Finally, here's another bit. I don't really know what it is, take it or leave it, really. Idk.

This time, it was Crowley who was late.

It wasn’t like him to be; usually he regarded deadlines with a sharp eye and too many glances at his watch, but he also had to maintain his supposedly cool attitude. Whenever he was actually late for something, he used that as an excuse.

Or the traffic. That was a good one too.

He didn’t need to pretend it was the traffic today; the line of cars stretching into the horizon in front of him was proof enough.

Crowley tapped his fingers against the wheel, adjusting his sunglasses in the rear-view mirror. This was getting tedious. Sure, he did try to cause a bit of traffic related trouble here and there, but it was a whole new story when _he_ was the one waiting in line. Now, as he heard the honking of horns and sharp yells like faint glimpses of Hell, he could see why it annoyed people so much.

“Oh, bugger it,” he said to himself, snapping a finger and appearing outside the art gallery where he and Aziraphale had proposed to meet. Twenty minutes ago, sure, but he entered nonetheless.

The angel was there already, having a very animated discussion with a security guard. Crowley’s eyes narrowed from beneath his shades, and channelling his flash facade, he walked up to them.

“Oh, there you are, Crowley! I was beginning to wonder where you were off to. This is-”

“Aziraphale, didn’t we plan to _meet now?_ ” he said, trying to make it painfully obvious that he wanted the security guard to leave. Aziraphale, oblivious, replied, “Yes, I do believe so, Crowley. I guess we are late.”

Crowley smiled in satisfaction, and the security guard shot him a knowing look.

“It was nice talking to you,” Aziraphale said, then turned to Crowley as they walked down the halls full of tourists.

“That was rather rude, dear.”

“Yeah, well...” Crowley began, trying to justify himself. “Yeah, it was.”

Aziraphale nodded righteously, straightening up a little. Then a thought struck him, and his brow furrowed in pondering.

“Are art galleries yours or ours?” he questioned. He’d never really thought about that until now.

Crowley shrugged. “Depends which artist you’re talking about.”

“ _Surely_ they must be ours.” the angel persisted. Crowley sighed.

“Not everything good is yours, you know. Do you want to be stuck watching the Sound of Music for the rest of your life?”

Aziraphale looked slightly annoyed. “Yes, but, I really do think they’re ours. I mean, art galleries are wonderful places of reverence and beauty.”

The demon merely smirked. “You sure about that?” he said, as they passed a particularly crude painting of a naked man.

“Okay, perhaps not, then,” Aziraphale muttered. “What are your notes on the child, anyway?”

“Erm...” Crowley mumbled, suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t been taking any notes. “He seems...very confused, about whether or not he should be good or evil.”

He contemplated for a second, then added, “Do you think we should tone it down, a little?”

Aziraphale considered. “Perhaps,” he said, in the tone of one who is pretending to consider an idea, but would never use it. “Anything else?”

“He’s very normal, so far,” Crowley mused. “I mean, he’s still developing. I imagine he’ll start using his powers soon.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Aziraphale stared at his notebook, thoughtfully skimming across the pages.

“He likes toy cars,” he said, after a while. Crowley repressed a laugh.

“ _Toy cars_?” the demon laughed, slightly exasperatedly. “Fancy that, the Antichrist playing with little toy cars!”

To himself, he muttered, “The boss is going to have my head for that.” Seeing the look on Aziraphale’s face, he chuckled slightly.

“Not _really,_ angel,” he replied amusedly. Aziraphale looked defensive.

“How was I supposed to know? I don’t know what your boss is like.”

Crowley shrugged. “He’s not all that bad, once you get used to him. So long as you don’t get on his bad side.”

They both paused. “Any more notes?” Crowley offered. Aziraphale shook his head.

“He seems a perfectly healthy young boy,” the angel quipped. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

As Aziraphale passes another rude painting, he smiled, and said, “You know, I think that you’re probably right about art galleries.”

“That damn Michelangelo,” Crowley said, and they both laughed.


End file.
